


till the stars rise above me

by freloux



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Marriage, Married Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>smug marrieds: the fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	till the stars rise above me

**Author's Note:**

> "We’ll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie;  
> We’ll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy;  
> We’ll look on the stars, and we’ll list to the river,  
> Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her:  
> Oh! she’ll whisper you—“Love, as unchangeably beaming,  
> And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming;  
> Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver,  
> As our souls flow in one down eternity’s river.”  
> -"The Welcome" by Thomas Osborne Davis

He tells her that it's a big commitment. Especially since he's so very much older than her. "I'm a Time Lord. And you're a human. Besides, I've been married before, and look how that worked out."

She replies that she doesn't care, explains that they're basically married anyway. That traveling with him is commitment enough.

The Doctor can never resist for long, not with her. So he takes her hand. "What are you - "

"If you're serious about this, then we're going to do it my way. No silly, flimsy, human pieces of paper. All right?"

Clara returns his gaze and nods. He explains what's going to happen. It's the Gallifreyan custom to join souls, rather than exchange rings. But silly, flimsy, human words don't do it justice. It's almost overwhelming. It's nothing like when they have sex. It's seeing and touching and feeling and tasting, to a heightened degree that nearly makes her brain hurt. He's showing her so much more of himself than he ever has before. It's like she's reading his mind, like she's feeling all his emotions almost before he does.

It's eternity, every part of time, all at once. The depth and height. There's a grey wash over her eyes, then a brilliant light. He's calling her name, and somehow she calls his back. Her lips seem to form the words even though she's never heard them before. Or maybe she was told once, long ago, or perhaps will be told in the future. It's like she's shattered herself all over again, and he's putting her back together, just by calling her name.

She comes back to herself slowly. After that, after all that, this world feels so small. Clara leans over the TARDIS console, opening her eyes wide and then shutting them tight. Absorbing everything again. Familiarizing herself with its colors.

"Where are we going now?" she asks, breath still shaky. She notices that he's hit the lever.

"St. Brides Bay," the Doctor replies quietly. "Seems rather fitting."

He parks the TARDIS on a rocky area close to the beach. There's no one here: just the two of them and the wide, expansive bay. The waves hit gently against the shore in a distant hiss. They take off their shoes and walk along the coast, leaving footprints in their wake. Clara shrieks when she gets too close to the sea and realizes just how cold the water is. He watches her dance in the waves, getting used to the cold, with a smile playing around his mouth.

There are hills in the distance. The Doctor asks her if she wants to go walking up there. "The view is better. Trust me."

They walk up the beach and towards the hills, hand in hand. As they go, he tells her stories. About planets he's seen, planets he's always wanted to visit. His childhood in Gallifrey, sketched only in the vaguest terms. He shows her all the secret things that still live in the grass: his sonic sunglasses reveal fairies and tiny, many-legged creatures that skitter away from their approach. Clara laughs in delighted surprise. At one point, they reach a river and he helps her over it. The warmth of his hand nestles strong against hers.

The path under their feet is rocky beige; they kick up small piles of dust as they go. Clara loses herself in this wonderful rhythm: walking up and down each tall, scrubby hill with her Doctor by her side. Eventually, though, she begins to get a sharp twinge in her side. "We have to - we have to take a bit of a break," she says, sitting down. "I'm not an alien like you."

He doesn't respond to that. Instead, he comments that it's a good place to stop anyway. "Look."

They're at the top of one of the hills, at the edge of its cliff. It's a peaceful meadow here. Behind them, far away, there's a farm with little white houses and cows lowing contentedly. The ocean is a distant song in front of them. It's a truly incredible view - human words can't really describe it. Utterly, utterly blue, with a craggy islet a few miles out to break up the expanse. As they sit and watch the bay, she can feel a mental intrusion. He asks her if she's all right now. She closes her eyes and focuses hard, tries to respond in kind in order to tell him that she is. Talking to him like this, without words, takes a bit of practice at first, but she falls into it rather easily. They've always been able to sense things about each other anyway.

"Are you happy, Clara?" he asks her out loud.

She looks over at him, surprised. "Why wouldn't I be?"

So they return to talking in silence, absorbing the view and each other's company. When evening falls, it's a canopy of stars above them. Clara looks up at all those swirling galaxies and imagines that each one is just for her. He lays out a blanket for them. Clara almost laughs, remembering its familiar pattern and how it kept her warm months and months ago after they escaped from the train.

"Shall we?" the Doctor asks, aloud again. He seems a bit shy all of a sudden. "It is A Thing that married people do, after all."

Taking her clothes off now, in front of him, feels no different than any of the other times before. If anything, it's more comfortable; they've seen so much together, done so much together, that this is just another step in their dance.

"You're very pretty naked," he tells her honestly as she lies down next to him.

"Thanks," she laughs. "You're not so bad yourself."

He sets to work memorizing all her tiny details. How her breasts rise and fall, caught on a moan. How her stomach tenses as he slides his hand over it, on his way lower, pursuing a sexier goal: the careful, deliberate drag of his fingertips against the inside of her cunt. She sighs and he says, by way of explanation, that he wants to make sure that she's comfortable.

Clara curls her fingers around his cock, running her thumb up the underside until he bucks into her grasp. "Just - don't be gentle with me. Please." Looks up at him, serious. "I want to feel you. All of you." Clara arches up into him, seeking friction, when he finally thrusts past that trigger inside her. It's a pleasure that burns ever so slightly. He asks her, mentally, if this is all right, if this is -yes, please, keep going. So he learns to find it, again and again, until she grips his cock in fierce little flutters. She whimpers as she feels the familiar swell and flare as he comes not long after, his stuttering breath - "Oh Clara, Clara, _Clara_."

He turns her arm from where it lies on his chest so he can trace his thumb over the pulse at her wrist. It's still rather heightened post-orgasm.

"Where will you take me next?" she asks.

"Wherever you want to go. I'm limited only by the strength of your imagination." He smiles down at her. "Which is really no limit at all."


End file.
